


Competition is Healthy

by Bead, tropes



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 22:57:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bead/pseuds/Bead, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tropes/pseuds/tropes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney’s not exactly sure how it got started, but when they have time for it, Fridays are the day he and John play a stealth seduction game. The winner gets his choice of sexual favors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Competition is Healthy

Rodney’s not exactly sure how it got started, but when they have time for it, Fridays are the day he and John play a stealth seduction game. The winner gets his choice of sexual favors. 

There’s only one thing, okay, maybe two things off limits in this scenario; John completely bound and blindfolded (something he might never be ready for) and really stupid thumbing-their-noses-at-The-Man public sex, (Rodney is not about to give John up for a cheap thrill) and acts that Rodney deemed gross, but they’re on the same page about that stuff. 

And that wheelbarrow position, because seriously, neither of them was twenty anymore. (Besides, Rodney thought it worked better with a vagina. Not that he ever mentioned those to John, just in case he sort of…missed them. He’s pretty sure, very sure, he doesn’t. Because of Fridays. )

This particular Friday, Rodney - tired from a frantic re-calibration of the desalination system feeding the main bulk of the living quarters - had actually forgotten the day of the week. 

He wakes up to the smell of coffee and freshly washed John. His mouth waters. Rodney had little thing about John just out of the shower; moist, warm skin, cheeks flushed and satiny smooth (for roughly three hours before a hint of stubble arrived) and smelling delicious. As in, better than food or coffee delicious, though he'd never admit it out loud.

John, here, morning, clean, yum, and with coffee; Rodney could definitely work with that. Especially since he hadn’t really seen John naked in two days. Or was it three? Stupid ten-thousand year old equipment. 

The ceramic mug scrapes against the edge of Rodney’s bedside table. “Hey,” John says softly, “thought you might need a little extra help this morning.” 

“Mmmmmmmm,” Rodney agrees enthusiastically, as much to the idea of coffee as the sensation of his mattress shifting as John sits down. He flails his way onto his back, sits up and unceremoniously wraps his arms around John, leaning heavily into his warm, clean and regrettably clothed body. 

“Okay,” John’s chuckle is dry as dust, “not what I thought you’d grab, but hi.” 

“Hi,” Rodney sighs happily into his neck. He nuzzles John a little, enjoying the rare, smooth feel of his neck and cheek. “You smell good.” 

“Why, thank you.” John sounds amused and a little bashful. 

“Really good,” Rodney adds leadingly, pulling back to smile at him. 

“Thanks.” John’s gaze was soft and affectionate as he cupped Rodney’s cheek. “Hey, buddy. Nice to see you, again." 

“Mmm,” Rodney agrees again and kisses him, a soft, slow, come-join-me-in-bed kind of a kiss. 

John’s smile presses briefly against Rodney’s mouth before he kisses back, nipping softly at Rodney’s lower lip and answering Rodney’s gentle licks with flickers of his own tongue. Rodney turns his head slightly and deepens the kiss. 

Sighing, John sways toward Rodney, surrendering, and Rodney moans his encouragement, sweeping the blankets off the bed and urging John to lie down with him. 

A terrible thing happens; John’s watch beeps. 

“Aw, Jeez.” John complains, apologizing with short, smacking kisses. “I gotta go brief Lorne on some stuff that came in the last packet.” 

“You can’t,” Rodney plays dirty, zeroing in on the weak point in John’s armor; his neck, “postpone?”

“Aaah,” John groans, arching into Rodney’s hands. “God, Rodney. No. We gotta plan some…”Whatever the need was, it is lost when John breaks his restraint for a moment and kisses Rodney with breathtaking passion. “I’ve gotta,” he dives in for one more as he stands, tucking his shirt in and adjusting his obviously hard cock. “I’ve gotta go.” 

“Mmmm,” Rodney whines, leaning in to rub his cheek shamelessly against John’s erection, enjoying scent of freshly laundered Colonel with a just a hint of John’s own heady musk. “What a shame.” 

“Jesus, Rodney,” John grabs his face and delivers another devastating, head-spinning kiss. “You’re killing me,” he breathes. “I’m going to be thinking of you like this all day.” He snaked a hand under the covers and into Rodney’s boxers and gives him a couple of slow, strong pulls, this thumb rubbing over the head of Rodney’s cock. 

Rodney groans and lies back. “Stay.”

“I can’t,” John murmurs, his face flushed and expression hungry. He touches Rodney’s cheek. “See you in staff,” he says softly, and pulls away, regret etched into every line of his body. 

“What?” 

“Staff meeting,” John replies. “Remember? Every Friday at 0900.”

Realization hits. “You _bastard_ ,” Rodney snarls. 

"Hey,” John drawls, gesturing to his bulging crotch. “I’m in the same boat _and_ I have an earlier meeting.” He strolls to the door and turns, cocking a finger at Rodney. “No cheating, honey,” he sing-songs, ducking out the door as Rodney grabs the first thing to hand and hurls it after him.

Unfortunately, the nearest thing is his cup of coffee. Rodney whimpers as he watches it drip down the wall. He flops back on his bed and moans, pressing his hand against his aching erection. 

Rule number one is absolutely no self-help until the competition was over. It made for some pretty short sessions – like the time all John had to do was stare into Rodney’s eyes, wrap his hand slowly around Rodney’s cock and give it one, long, perfect pull – Rodney had exploded immediately, and with enough force to get semen in his _eyebrow_ (a personal best.) He really couldn’t fault the intensity of the results. 

It is Rodney’s own rule, and right now? He hates it.

 _Oh, that stupid, seductive son of a bitch_ , Rodney fumes as he stumps to the bathroom. 

Waiting for him on the counter was a travel mug, brimming with coffee. “I _hate_ you!” Rodney spits, as he picks up the mug and take a swig. Stuck to the bottom of the mug was a post-it-note, its message right in front of Rodney’s eyes. 

“You, too. –J” 

Rodney grabs the note and stares at it, mouth working soundlessly. “You, too?” Obviously, it had overtones of “I love you, too,” which they’d _never_ said, and Rodney had pretty much resigned himself to never hearing. Surely John wouldn’t ….

Of course, he’d just said, “I hate you!” aloud, and this is a perfect response to that outburst, which is extremely creepy. Rodney ducks his head and looks around the room, a little spooked. No cameras that he can see, and anyway, it isn’t like Sheppard could beam a note in or something. That is stupid. It is very stupid and paranoid. He is obviously still very tired. He ducks in the shower and has a look in there, too. Then he frowns at the note. _What does it mean??_

Oh, oh, that was it. If John Sheppard wanted to take this game to new levels, he was _on_.  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~

John manages to get through his briefing with Lorne without grinning like an idiot the entire time. He keeps it reined into a smirk, which Lorne is used to, but every now and then he can feel his lips hovering at the edge of a full-on, un-Colonel-like leer that has the memory of sleepy, fumbling Rodney in it and has to duck his head, cough, send Lorne on his way.

As he wanders down the hall to the 0900 staff meeting, John figures he's at least one, maybe two, points up already. He walks past Cadman and her team's biologist as he's thinking about the post-it note and the biologist turns red and stumbles, and Cadman winks at him, helps Spinosa to her feet.

He manages to wipe the leer off his face before saying hello to Carter, and pretends to be sober and attentive as everyone else files in, though Rodney's scowling, disgruntled face makes it hard.

Then Rodney starts to give his report on progress on streamlining the stardrive's power consumption.

There's a lot of math, the equations flawless in Rodney's mouth, talk of things like velocity and force and thrust, and Rodney's _looking_ at him the entire time. His hands flicker and dart to illustrate the principles of flight, the intricacies of physics, moving through the air as knowledgeably as they move over John. He tries really hard not to think of that, those hands, how they can take him apart and figure him out and how Rodney knows just how to touch him.

A recent (not recent enough) memory hits him of Rodney, two confident fingers in John's ass, stroking, stroking.

John shifts, tries to refocus on the smirk Rodney isn't even trying to hide.

When Carter tries to interrupt--"Rodney, I think maybe you're overestimating what the city..."--he doesn't even pause, but rides right over her, "I've lived in this city for over three years, I think I know what it's capable of, Colonel, thank you" and is still looking right at John.

"You don't have any way to test this," Sam points out when Rodney's finished.

"We'll run simulations," Rodney says. "Radek'll be monitoring things from the control room and I'll have Colonel Sheppard in the chair."

_Oh God._

"Sounds like a plan," Sam says, oblivious of the fact that John is a breath away from coming in his pants and two breaths away from a heart attack.

"Yes," Rodney says smugly, smirking right into John's dazed and glassy eyes. "A very good plan."

"Fine," John says tightly, looking at his watch. He takes a moment to disguise the sigh of escaping Rodney's laser-like gaze into that of a very busy military commander. "I've got a few things to wrap up and I should be able to meet you in the gate room in half an hour."

"Can't wait?" Rodney smirks. (John can hear it)

"Nothing like that," John shrugs, nodding casually as everyone else files out. "Just a few loose ends."

"Need any help?" Rodney's voice drops just enough for John's breath to catch.

"Nope," He manages not to squeak.

A triumphant blush high on his cheeks, Rodney's game face snaps back on and nodding formally, he sweeps out. "Don't keep me waiting," he calls over his shoulder.

John manages to get out of the conference room without tripping over his feet or making himself look like what he is; dangerously turned on and visited with the realization that he may have set into motion the most reckless thing he's ever done.

Ducking into the nearest restroom, he washes his face, jumps up and down a bit and generally talks himself down from the ledge. It takes a lot of talking and a lot of jumping. 

He has to resort to the gallery of really terrifying clown memories to finally will his hard-on away. Billy Harper's eighth birthday always does the trick. _Greasepaint. Big shoes. Unbelievable B.O. Bad teeth. Yup. Man down._

Shuddering, John leans against the smooth, cool wall and thinks that it was pretty clear that Rodney had taken John's post-it note exactly as it was intended. A double-dog dare fight to the death or until somebody talks about their feelings. (Pretty much the same thing.) He only has himself to blame. He's never had to summon the clown this early in the game.

And John had seriously underestimated the post-emergency-revenge-rage factor. Rodney was at full capacity.

The chair for chrissakes.

_"I've lived in this city for over three years, I think I know what it's capable of, Colonel, thank you."_

Every word had gone right in John's ears, hit the irony and "you are so screwed" bells and continued straight down to John's cock. Rodney knew exactly what John's body was capable of, especially since he'd discovered most of John's limits, capabilities, whatever. And John had just agreed to offer himself up in the chair, for who knew how long, practically crotch first.

He is so screwed.

Possibly.

Eventually, most definitely, but before lunch? Never.

Smiling a small, secret smile, John Sheppard steps back out into the fray.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As the chair rises to its upright and locked position, John focuses his gaze on Rodney, who seems a little startled at John’s composure. 

It’s not composure. John isn’t composed at all. He is merely still. In fact, he is a little afraid of what he might do to his career, their pants and Rodney's back if either one of them moves an inch closer. 

Rodney’s face is flushed, always a good look on him, eyes sparkling with mischief, smugness and (John notes with an inner, dangerous smirk) a sudden, dawning horror. Radek is no longer monitoring them, no longer their invisible chaperone and Rodney no longer has John trapped in the chair shaking and sweating and suffering. 

And? John is pissed. If he’d hated clowns before, he _really_ hates them now. A whole _hour_ of summoning the clown, over and over, all while trying to reassure Atlantis that the Wraith hadn’t mutated into red-haired grease-painted freaks, though come to think of it, all that is really missing are the big shoes, false noses, frizzy hair and body odor. The bad teeth they have covered. 

And that he was fine, fine, really, just a little distracted, and _no, please don’t put the image of The Clown From Hell into the database, thank you, sweetheart. No. Just a bad dream I’m remembering. Very, very vivid bad dream. With smells._ All while attempting to follow instructions with Rodney counting the goddamn stitches on his goddamn inseam with his goddamn fucking fantastic seriously hotter than hell fingers. 

The chair is off, John is free and Rodney is starting to look a whole lot like lunch. He can feel a good old-fashioned roar building in his belly and the kind of wild feeling of electricity just under his skin he gets when it hits him how fantastic this thing with Rodney really is. 

They have to get out of this room _now_ , because if Rodney touches him, or comes close enough for John to smell his skin, John is seriously going to lose it and fuck him right here in the chair. Goddamn McKay chair fetish, he was _not_ going to have sex in the chair with Atlantis watching, hell, probably coming along with the ride and not today. John was going to see this through and they so needed to get out of this room. 

Three days. Three long days and nights with Rodney here but rushed and exhausted and working and frantic to not have to make everyone move because he couldn't get the salt out of the water, and there'd been nothing John could do but not hang around obviously and bring him a sandwich every once in a while. He had no idea why it drove him so nuts this particular time, and then he did. 

John is beginning to understand why Ronon roars when he fights, because it feels good, surprises the heck out of your opponent and a nice little roar and rush of aggression would get him up out of this chair and into Rodney’s space but he shouldn’t do that, not yet. 

Make him wait for it. Make him squirm a little, after John nearly chafed his ass off squirming this morning. He didn’t have diagnostics, or Rodney spread out for him on the damn chair, but he’d had a tactical advantage in mind the moment he stepped out of the restroom a very long hour ago. If he could just get Rodney to move. 

So, he sits and waits and watches Rodney, jaws clenched around a roar of frustration and lust and god-dammit-Rodney he feels that he really deserves. 

Rodney’s mouth is red. Red like from good, hard kissing, neck flushed, chest moving deeply with every breath. Good, good. Edible good. John clenches his fists against the cool arms of the chair and takes a deep breath, glaring under his brows at Rodney, who swallows hard and sways a little. 

John lets his gaze drift slowly down Rodney’s body and back up. Shifts into a relaxed pose, spreading his legs slightly and looks again. Rodney shivers a little.

Slowly, John licks his lower lip. 

Rodney’s eyes drop to John’s mouth and he sways again. 

It’s all John can do not to leap out of the chair. Concentrating on his breathing, he chews on his lip absently, but quite deliberately. 

With a ragged gasp, Rodney shakes himself, tilts his chin haughtily and bolts for the transporter. John is up and after him in a flash. 

Inside the small chamber, Rodney’s hand is out and reaching for the controls, but John, crowding him as the doors close, slaps his hand away and triggers the hold/privacy/lock sequence he’d discussed with Atlantis as he’d walked to the chair room this morning. Just a nice little precautionary measure should he need a moment to take back some ground. 

Does he ever. 

As he feels Atlantis take his six, John sucks in a breath and steps into Rodney’s space, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the heat from his body and see the sweat forming on his brow. John doesn’t take a moment to savor that or Rodney’s continued delicious flush, probably well down his chest if John took the trouble to look. 

It’s too dangerous at this point, so John slaps his hands to either side of Rodney’s head and just stares, their faces a hand’s breadth apart, letting Rodney see a little up close and personal just. how. far. he’s pushed John’s buttons. 

Rodney presses himself against the wall minutely, his hands spreading wide against the sides of the transporter. John’s pretty sure they’re pressed white-knuckle tight, trying not to break first and touch with real intent. Rodney’s chest nearly touches John’s with each breath, and there is a fine flicker to his eyelids. The blue of his eyes are just slivers of color around his dark, wide pupils. 

John breathes again, slowly, reminding himself to keep his eyes on the prize. A clown hovers just beyond his conscious thought and he spares a moment to wonder if Atlantis knows what he’s up to. 

He does not need a wingman. _Stand watch, sweetheart, I’m fine,_ he thinks sternly, but the distraction gives him a little more control and he’s grateful. 

If this were any other moment of John backing Rodney up against a wall, Rodney’s eyes would be closed by now, because John would have a knee between his legs, pressing up and in just right, hands in his hair and his mouth on Rodney’s throat. 

Rodney’s trying very hard not to tilt his neck. John sighs subtly, directing a stream of warm air in that direction. Rodney feels it and his jaw clenches as he glares at John, his chin giving the expression an additional upward defiant tilt. 

_Ah, room enough to work._ He leans in, his nose just missing Rodney’s cheek. Inhaling again, John closes his eyes and breathes across Rodney’s skin, hovering with lips and nose just millimeters from his face, but not touching him with anything but his warmed breath and the heat of his own body. 

Rodney presses himself harder against the wall with a whimper, and John allows himself a smile at a choked off, “Bastard,” whispered with a frantic little break in it. _Yes._

The trembling starts when John rubs his nose lightly across that sweet little hollow under Rodney’s ear, and he has to clench his own jaw not to press his mouth just there, maybe nip a little, see if he can coax that tremble into a moan.

John’s already looking forward to the sudden break in his muscle tension, that little bit of _yes_ Rodney’s whole body gives when his brain switches from making out while multitasking to just them and what they do. It hits something deep in John, every single time. 

John has to open his own eyes and mentally shake himself at that, a fingernail’s length from giving in and burying himself in Rodney’s scent and warmth. He’s got to finish this quickly before he loses more focus. One more breath and he leans back to smile at Rodney. 

Rodney’s eyes open slowly, like he’s forcing them and he stares at John with a combination of dazed lust, bewilderment and something John's grandmother would call “sheer cussedness.” John nearly whoops with pure joy at the sight of it, but instead he smiles gently and cups one side of Rodney’s face. 

“You know what?” he asks softly, keeping their faces still close enough for that electric feeling under his skin to crackle, threatening to burst free. Rodney’s lips are relaxed and soft and so very close. 

John releases the movement lock with his mind and steadies Rodney as they materialize near the mess hall. He focuses on the hum under his skin and the feel of Rodney’s cheek under his hand and the look in his eyes. John jumps, hanging onto that surge of energy, of _feeling_ like he’s riding a wave. 

“I really missed you,” he says simply, just in case his voice wobbles. Hands shaking with something other than lust, he leans in and kisses Rodney just once, but with every bit of longing he’s saved up in those three days.

Then he takes a giant step backwards, releases all the locks, and with a shaky nod at Rodney’s flustered face, he adds, “A lot.” 

This time his voice does wobble a little bit and he feels lightheaded. He blinks while the lights go a little extra bright and swimmy for a moment. He digs his nails into the palms of his hands, _knowing_ the disaster it would be to touch Rodney right now, but he wants to so, so much. 

John’s thoughts have the same wobbling croak as he begs Atlantis to open the door for him, and she does, and he spills out into the hall, as unsteady as a newborn foal. He’s pretty sure he’s left Rodney unable to walk back there, and casts about for a place to hide for a moment, going to ground in a little alcove/desky thing just off the mess hall. 

He sinks down on the bench and leans his forehead against the wall, his breath heaving in and out of his chest like he’s been running. Atlantis flutters around him, the clinginess a usual occurrence to extended chair-duties, cooling the air around him and feeling vaguely like she wishes he would ask for something. 

_You wanna show me a clown, sweetheart? I could use the distraction._

Atlantis puffs a warm stream of air down his back, like a comforting hand. Instead she sends him an image of Rodney happy and smiling, sending John a fond sideways glance during a team lunch a few weeks ago. He rubs his head gratefully against the wall and the warm air washes over his back again. 

Lunch. He made it to lunch time. John looks at his watch triumphantly. _Ha!_

Patting the wall affectionately, John leaves for the mess with a spring in his step. If he misses the fact that several expedition members, male and female, blush and stumble and trip around him - Corporal Almeda drops an entire ladle of creamed zefra on her boot - it’s because he doesn’t realize how devastatingly happy he looks.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_I really missed you._

The doors slide shut, and Rodney slumps against the wall of the transporter, heat blooming in his chest and radiating out, stinging his flushed cheeks, making the tips of his toes tingle.

_A lot._

Someone tries to open the transporter door, and Rodney puts out a hand to steady himself, to look anything close to normal. his fingers brush the map of Atlantis, and in a flash of light he finds himself in the corridor off the Botany labs and looking into the startled blue eyes of Katie Brown.

"Shit," he blurts, and punches the map, his hard-on completely destroyed. In another flash of light, he's back by the mess, and he stumbles out, sure that-- whatever just happened must be showing on his face, plain as day. Every bit of him is burning like a brand.

_A lot._

Panic. Absolute. Total. Panic.

He wanders into the mess, somehow gets a tray and food, and ends up eating whatever he got from the cooks with Zelenka, who he hopes would have the consideration to warn him in case he picked up lemon merengue pie in his distracted state. Not that Zelenka knows Rodney's distracted, which means he's probably not looking at Rodney's tray and all, and what did he just eat, was it--

Chocolate pudding.

"Rodney?" Zelenka asks, waving a floppy hand in the air in front of Rodney's face. "You have not corrected me or called me a moron once since you sat down. Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

Rodney grimaces around his mouthful of pudding and bats at Zelenka's girly, limp-wristed hand with his dirty spoon, all the while scanning the mess for John. "'M fine. Whazzat las' bit?"

Zelenka blinks and opens his mouth to repeat himself, when a lazy voice floats between them. " Mind if I join you?"

Rodney's eyes close, and he can feel John's breath stirring the hair on the crown of his head, can see him all casual and nonchalant with his tray, as if he hadn't been-- hadn't been-- getting _emotional_ with Rodney and with Rodney's dick, thanks, in the transporter just ten minutes ago.

John sits on his other side and proceeds to chat Zelenka up for the next thirty minutes, leaning over and around and practically through Rodney without ever touching him.

Not even a brush of the shoulder.

Five minutes in, Rodney bites his lip, scoots back just a little and starts writing numbers on his paper napkin.

_I really missed you._

He stands, and leaves, taking his tray, ignoring the way John's gaze, his attention, is totally on him even though a millisecond ago he'd been enthusiastically chatting Zelenka up about modifying all the puddlejumpers to have hyperdrives like the one Rodney had jury-rigged.

The napkin, he leaves at John's far elbow.

It reads:

01011001  
01101111  
01110101  
00101100  
00100000  
01110100  
01101111  
01101111  
00101110

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

John watches Rodney walk out of the mess with dismay. Something is definitely up. Rodney hadn’t touched him or looked at him once during lunch and had actually pushed his chair away from him to scribble on a napkin. 

A napkin he had left behind. 

John picks it up and stares at it a moment, disbelieving. _Binary_. The asshole wrote him a note in _binary???_. 

He pushes his tray away, feeling a little queasy. _What if Rodney didn’t…doesn’t….see, **this?** This is why feelings suck._

 _Binary_. He pats his pockets for a pencil.

Across the table, Radek clears his throat politely. John looks up, having forgotten Zelenka was there. A pen is in his hand – a nice one - no longer as precious as it had been a few years ago, but still. Radek is a pretty cool guy. 

“It would seem,” Radek says somberly, offering the pen and tilting his head toward the mess door. “You have a problem to solve. 

“Yeah,” John sighs, clutching the napkin a little. “We’re, uh…”

“Colonel.” Radek rides over his words softly, “John. Do not do me the disrespect of concocting ridiculous lie to cover why Rodney McKay is reduced to conversing in _binary_ with you. Obviously something upsetting occurred between here and the chair room. This is perhaps his way of making peace?” 

_Or breaking up with me._ “Uh.” John’s stomach swoops unpleasantly. He’s got to pull it together.

“Unless you would like some privacy, I will stay here and work to keep the riff-raff away from you?” He manages to sound solicitous with just a hint of the gossip hound on the scent and slightly wistful for the good old days of nifty binary puzzles. He all but bats his eyes at John. 

John manages a sickly grin as he takes his cue. “You just want to know what it says.” 

Radek feigns offense, but his eyes are twinkling. “I wouldn’t dream of prying into your Byzantine little activities that keep McKay from terrorizing me every single minute of my life.” He pokes idly at his pudding, radiating indifference. 

“Oh, no,” John rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t born yesterday.” 

“Pfah. Go, then.” Radek shoos him. “Run off to find your secret decoder ring.” 

“I will.” John hands him back his pen. “I won’t be needing this.”

“It helps when counting to take off socks. More things to count that way.” 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” John drawls back, stuffing the napkin in his pocket. 

“Yes, yes, you can do it in that mathematical savant brain of yours, I forgot.” 

Raising an eyebrow at Zelenka, because he isn’t about to admit it either way, John grabs his tray and prepares to sweep off with as much dignity as possible. At the last second, he grabs Rodney’s’ tray, too. 

“Good luck,” Radek adds softly, and when John glances at him, his gaze is both wry and kind. “I will keep minons away this afternoon.” 

It’s all John can do to duck his head and nod in thanks. Sometimes the goodness of his adopted family just about bowls him over. 

John stacks Rodney’s tray on top of his own, frowning down at it as he walks to the bus table. He’s hardly eaten a thing, for Rodney. Only eaten the pudding and a couple of spoonfuls of the creamed zafra. His fruit cup - drying unappealingly - and entrée lay untouched on his plate, as is his cup of coffee. 

Rodney wasting coffee? This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all. He swerves by the self-serve line and grabs a couple of sandwiches. Rodney’s going to be ravingly hungry in about an hour if he doesn’t eat something substantial. 

Deciding that discretion is the better part of saving face if your…. Rodney breaks up with you in a note, in binary, on a napkin, John heads to his room to decode. 

It takes him a moment to get back into the groove and he has a bad minute or two until he realizes that of _course_ Rodney's used punctuation, but all of a sudden, he’s broken down the answer into six little letters. 

_You, too._

He presses his hands hard against the top of his desk, staring at it.

_You, too._

That feeling’s back, that electricity running under his skin, and this time he’s running so hot and wild with it, he bends over and presses his head against the desk for a long moment, nearly lightheaded again, but from relief this time. He covers the crumpled, precious napkin with his hand gently, wanting to pull the ink into his skin. Keying his radio to a personal channel, John half expects the thing to short out. 

“Sheppard to McKay.” (His voice is oddly steady, but he watches the slight tremor in his hand with a grin.) 

“What?” Rodney’s in full defense mode, snippy and cutting. 

“Where are you, Rodney?” He can’t help the raspy dip in his voice. 

“Working?” Rodney says accusingly. 

“Rodney.” 

“Fine. In my lab.” 

John’s halfway out the door and down the hall when Rodney calls him back. 

“And?” 

John waits until he’s in the privacy of the transporter to answer. “Stay put.” 

He can almost hear Rodney’s nervous swallow and grins as he punches the transporter key. 

_You, too._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The smile on Sheppard’s face when Rodney meets him at the transporter door is _almost_ enough to shatter his resolve. 

“Hey,” John says, his eyebrows going all squinchy in confusion. 

Rodney shoos him back into the transporter, even though he hasn’t moved a muscle. “Like my lab is the appropriate venue for…” he gestures between them vaguely. 

An unholy light gleams in John’s eyes as he nods. “Right. Right.” He stands aside for Rodney to come in, looking at him from underneath his lashes shyly. Rodney shoves his hands into his pockets. 

“Just. Don’t,” he says. “Don’t look at me.”

John keeps looking, smiling, just _breathing_ at him, and dear god it shouldn’t be that hot to _respirate_. 

“Stop it, you pervert, or I’ll never be able to travel in these things again without a hard-on.” 

Ears turning pink, John puts on his “No, officer, nothing to see here,” face and says gruffly, “I uh, brought you some sandwiches.” He holds them out, looking a little stubborn.

 _Oh. Food._ Rodney just about melts. That is so not fair. “Oh, uh, thanks,” he replies, being very careful not to touch John’s fingers. 

He tucks into a sandwich happily. Sneaking a sidelong look at John, he discovers him still red-eared and smiling slightly as he contemplates the transporter doors, rocking back and forth on his heels and looking like if he had change in his pockets, he’d jangle it. 

Rodney’s not the only one nervous. Good. 

He completely finishes the first half of his sandwich when he realizes they’re just _standing_ here. He leans across John to jab the map at the transporter nearest their respective quarters. John lets out a tiny gasp as the back of Rodney’s arm brushes his chest. 

“Don’t. Touch. Me. ” Rodney hisses as they flash away. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

John gives him a little shove when they materialize. “You touched me first!” 

There’s a minor slap fight because Rodney loses his balance and somehow gets his elbow in John’s chest pocket and by the time they’re in the hallway John’s about ready to strangle Rodney because _where does he get off being so snippy about this anyway? I’m the one who put myself out there, dammit._

He pushes ahead to his own quarters and lets Rodney follow him if he feels like it. Once he’s inside, however, he can see the corner of Rodney’s napkin on his desk - which was a kind of stupid thing to leave out – and the thought, the effort Rodney made, warms him all over again. He walks over quietly and tucks it in his left chest pocket. John stands there a second, almost afraid to see what will be on Rodney’s face when he turns around.

When he does turn around, John doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream, because Rodney’s blushing a little and his chin tilts up pugnaciously. _He’s still playing the game; he still doesn’t get it._

John has flash of horrified realization that _he_ is the one in touch with his feelings right this minute and where this whole day has been leading to, the point that he’s been clumsily and obviously not getting across, but now that he’s here, his mind is blank and his hands are shaking with…something. John swallows hard and since his most recent plan was to find Rodney and kiss him senseless, maybe he’ll go with that, let the rest sort itself out later. 

Rodney’s arms are crossed, though, and he is glaring. _Oops._

“Hey,” John says softly and it’s easy to smile, because getting through Rodney’s prickly defense system is something he knows how to do. Mostly. Okay, he’s perfecting it. 

“There was something?” Rodney’s voice is tight and the dismay John felt in the mess hall is back. If he can just get Rodney to uncross his arms…he’ll have something to work with. Otherwise, Rodney’s just going to curl up tighter and tighter, which is the last thing John wants. Maybe he should have just come out and _said_ …

He swallows hard again, puts his hand on his pocket over the napkin and says, “Missed me, huh?” knowing his smile is wavering all over the place from nerves and is sliding firmly into goofy territory. He also can’t quite help the little pleased bounce either.

Rodney’s face turns redder and he thrusts his chin out defensively. “Well, when I had a moment from worrying about ten thousand year old plumbing blowing up in my face, I found that I’d much rather have been…um…anywhere else. That is to say, I was looking forward to…” he gestures in between them. 

John doesn’t let the pause get awkward. “Me too.”

Rodney’s stubborn glare melts a little and John steps forward slowly and settles in front of him, lifting his hands to stroke soothingly up and down Rodney’s arms. He glances at him, takes in the slow shift in expression from irritated to bewildered, swallows hard as he gathers his thoughts and addresses Rodney’s sternum, hands moving over smooth cotton and warm skin as much to ground himself as calm Rodney.

“I,” he says as steadily as he can. “I just wanted you to know, to, uh, feel all day… today that I…really,” he takes a deep breath, trying to relax his vocal chords and get some oxygen to his brain because his voice is coming out pretty strangled. 

“I think about you, about…us. Even when it’s just…everyday stuff and you’re. You were right _there_ , but I couldn’t…and…not that it was important or anything…and it kind of hit me, well, probably sounds stupid.”

He chances a look at Rodney, whose color is high and his eyes are shocked and shining. 

“I mean, this is good, right,” John repeats huskily, not really asking but some participation was feeling kind of necessary. Rodney blinks and nods, looking a little stunned, a tiny smile starting to curl the edges of his mouth. John lets out a huge sigh. “We’re _good_ and I really…um. Like that.” 

“And you chose a _Get Ur Freak on Friday_ to tell me this?” Rodney’s incredulous, but he’s not mad. Just exasperated.

“’Get Ur _what_?” John snorts helplessly

Rodney rolls his eyes, “Yes, because _that’s_ the salient point.” He starts to cross his arms, but this time, John catches him and shoves Rodney back against the wall, using the surprise at the sudden move to pin Rodney’s hands on either side of his head and lean in. 

“The salient point, Rodney,” John bites out, his voice husking low, “is that I wanted to say something _today_ instead of talking myself out of it or chalking it up to space gas or something.” 

“Space gas?” Rodney’s voice is very small, overwhelmed and he looks so tired and John is so bad at this stuff. So. Very. Bad. 

He growls and lunges, but catches himself just as Rodney inhales sharply, ready for a forceful, possessive kiss and instead takes Rodney’s mouth like he is tasting the most fantastic thing in the world, which, from John’s perspective, is pretty true. 

John pours every bit of passion and frustration at the day and his own inability to say stuff into it making this kiss the hottest, most sincere kiss he has ever given in his life and finally, finally, Rodney sighs and melts against him, his relaxed fingers brushing loose and easy against John’s restraining hands. 

Sliding his palms up, he meshes his fingers with Rodney’s and holds on tight, pressing in as close as he can. When they have to break for air, he pulls back and Rodney’s face is as shiningly happy as he’s ever seen it. 

“Oh,” he says with the air of a man who is just getting it, “you _missed_ me, missed me.” 

“Uh-huh,” John rubs his nose against Rodney’s cheek and enjoys the little hitch in Rodney’s breathing. 

“Meaning that you…” 

John kisses him softly, once, twice and goes back to nuzzling, this time winding up right next to Rodney’s ear. “Yeah, I do.” 

Rodney gasps and wraps his arms around John as if John’s going to try to get away _now_. “I…I do, too…that is…love you. That is if, I’m, um…”

“Yeah,” John gulps, so relieved. Something warm and bright and fantastic surges through his veins and he presses his mouth against Rodney’s neck and cheek and shoulder, trying help the words get free. “Yeah, Rodney. Yeah, okay? I do. I…” and it winds him up and all of a sudden he’s desperate, clutching at Rodney, pressing against him as if he can just bypass his brain and just push everything he means right though his skin. 

“Yesterday,” he gasps against the side of Rodney’s neck, “it hit me yesterday and I…” 

Rodney’s hands are gentle. “There was no time to tell me. I was all…” John can feel his hands say something behind his back, “and then I was exhausted, which is not exactly…”

“Yeah,” wrung out, John presses a few little kisses on that spot he likes, right at the corner where Rodney’s jaw meets his neck. 

Rodney gathers him in tighter and muses, “What am I gonna do with you?”

Rubbing slowly against him, John murmurs, “Have a few suggestions.”

“Oh, no,” Rodney says, giving him a shove. “You totally broke first.” He points a flustered, triumphant finger at John. 

John stands there and blinks for a minute, trying to figure out….”Oh,” he says finally, grinning and bouncing proudly on his heels. “I did. I totally did.” Rodney grins back just as goofily and then gets a pretty serious look on his face. 

“So, I get to pick what I want, right?” 

“Yeah, Rodney, sure.” John is already toeing out of his shoes. “Whatever you want.” 

Rodney clears his throat and clasps his hands nervously. “I think I want to hear you actually say it,” he says very quietly. “Please.” 

John goes still and then cold and then hot and he looks at Rodney’s face and sees fear there and need, but it’s the fear that he’s pushed John too far that finally makes John able to move again. He walks over to Rodney, draws him close and puts his mouth right next to Rodney’s ear. He nuzzles that little favorite neck-jaw spot again for luck. 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. And. He says it. When Rodney looks at him after, John feels like he’s the guy who won. Like the guy who won everything.

So, he says it again, this time so he can see Rodney’s face. And then he feels a little like he might pass out, but still. He totally won. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**Author's Note:**

> This is all yin_again's fault. She started it. And aesc, and tropes who spurred me on and helped me get where I needed. I have to say, writing with them was like the best kind of improv, and the story much richer for it. 
> 
> Chkc made me a picture of the opening scene; the first of many gifts she's graced me with. It's here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/118444


End file.
